Page 3 of In Bed with a Highland Brute

Murdoch winced, looking at his friend who he had often considered like a brother.

“Dinnae look at me like that,” Murdoch said, shaking his head.

“Like what? Like I am seeing ye fer the first time?” Ian stepped forward, brandishing the letter between them as if it were a weapon. “Ye have a brother, Murdoch!? Ye never said that.”

“I have been praying he was still alive ever since he went tae war. We havenae seen each other in a long time.”

“Why would ye keep this a secret? Why nae tell me?” Ian asked, walking around Murdoch as he took some boots out of a coffer and sat down on the lid, pulling them on.

“I have told ye some secrets,” Murdoch said, his voice growing deeper. “Is that nae enough? Ye ken more than most, Ian.”

“Aye, aye, I ken that.” Ian looked away, brushing a hand into his fair hair in plain stress. “I ken ye have yer demons, but this? Why keep such a secret?”

“Something tells me ye are going tae be even angrier when ye see who has signed that letter.”

“It is from yer father, aye, I read that…” Ian’s voice faded as he looked down at the bottom of the letter. Murdoch had hinted to Ian when they had first met five years ago that he was the son of a laird. What he hadn’t explained was which laird his father was. “Laird Maclean? Murdoch!” Ian moved swiftly across the room.

Murdoch leapt over the coffer, a chuckle escaping him when he saw the shock on his friend’s face.

“I’m reminded of our sword fight the other day. Ye looked ready tae kill me then as well.”

“We were parrying, though I’m tempted tae hurt ye now,” Ian said, chasing him around the coffer. “Ye kept this a secret!?”

“Nae exactly. I just told ye I didnae like talking about my past, and ye eventually stopped asking.”

“Aye, I can see what a fool I was now tae dae that! Tell me this. Are ye the eldest son? Or is it yer brother, Clyde?” Ian asked, waving the letter in the air. Murdoch winced, not needing to say the words for Ian to understand. “In the name of God. Wait until Noah hears we have another heir tae a lairdship under our roof.”

“I’ve been avoiding that truth fer a long time, Ian. Ye can guess well enough why that is, can ye nae?” Murdoch caught his eye as they stopped their cat and mouse game either side of the coffer. Ian’s humored smile fell away, and he grimaced, the lines of his long face contorting painfully.

Ian knew to a certain degree why Murdoch was haunted. Once, after a heavy amount of ale and whisky, Murdoch had revealed to his friend how he had been betrothed many years before. All he’d revealed to Ian was that he had lost her. Ian knew no more.

It was Murdoch’s greatest secret that his betrothed, Lillie, had been found at the bottom of a cliff a day before they were due to get married. What was clear from the torn gown and the bruises she bore was that she had been pushed.

It was murder.

An image appeared in his mind. Lillie had been stunning, and her beauty was not the only thing endearing about her. Kind, confident, and always buoyant, she easily charmed people. Murdoch had never thought of himself as being in love with her, but he was so fond of her at the time, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he would have one day fallen in love with her, but he never got the chance to find out. That future was snatched away from him by a murderer that had never been found.

After Lillie was killed, much had changed.

“What happened, Murdoch? Truly,” Ian said, stepping toward him, that soft tone appearing again. “After ye lost yer betrothed.”

“I left.” Murdoch’s answer was simple as he pulled on his open doublet over his shoulders. He kept the whole truth to himself. His father, Laird Fergus Maclean still wanted an alliance between his clan and the Grants, so his brother was betrothed to Lillie’s sister, Harper. Yet the shadows were cast over them all. Murdoch came to the Chattans to fight for a cause he believed in, and Clyde went to war for the king. His marriage was postponed until he returned, which seemed to be now – five years later.

Murdoch turned away, moving to check his appearance in the mirror once more. His gaze turned away from the heavy lines of his face and he looked toward the letter in Ian’s hand.

“Ye keep many secrets, me friend.” Ian approached and folded up the letter, passing it back into Murdoch’s grasp. “Yer father begs fer yer presence fer the wedding. He talks of healing old wounds and rifts.”

Murdoch took the letter and held it delicately, his fingers pressed against the parchment.

“So? Will ye go?” Ian asked.

Murdoch slowly nodded. Perhaps it was time to face the ghosts of the past after all. And above all – he missed his brother.

“Dae me a favor,” Ian whispered in Murdoch’s ear as they entered the great hall. The table had been laid out grandly for dinner, with vast trenchers of food presented. The scents of cooked chicken and spices hung in the air. The fragrance of clove-scented red wine hovered the most, and Murdoch reached for the nearest pewter jug full of the wine as he reached the table. He was in need of a strong drink.

“What is that?” Murdoch asked his friend.

“At least smile a little,” Ian elbowed him good-naturedly, trying to rouse a little one from him. “Ye’d think yer face had been turned tae stone.”